Lousy Reputation
by AnEdwardToRemember
Summary: Based on Alfred Hitchcock "Notorious" 1946 .


**Title: Lousy Reputation**

**A/N: This fic is inspired by Notorious, a 1946 Alfred Hitchcock film starring **

**Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman.**

**Part 1**

The lights of the Miami club strobed in multi-colored arcs, throwing dancers into relief as they gyrated with abandon to the throbbing music.

She stood out, even amongst the young worshippers of hedonism, her head flung back with abandon as he body moved gracefully, sinfully, wantonly. She was oblivious to those around her although her body was the recipient of numerous lustful stares of those who wanted to enter that aura.

Until he did. Her eyes had been closed as she felt the rhythm, blocking out everything, everything that could disrupt the frenetic moment where she was surrounded but alone. But somewhere inside she felt eyes watching her, and she stilled for the briefest of moments and found them. Not a random leer or invitation. Oh no. The smoldering green eyes that pinned her spoke so much more than that.

He was gorgeous as sin, dressed in clothes that whispered rather than screamed money, and highlighted a body that made her mouth water. His hair drew her eyes, its wild confusion appearing almost red in the flashing lights as he moved across the floor to her. He advanced gracefully, almost as though he were stalking her, a mountain lion set upon his prey. She felt a little thrill and tug deep inside.

He would do. Oh yes, for tonight he would do. She wondered for a moment if the preliminaries were even necessary. She was drunk enough to have lost any inhibitions, if not her taste, and she knew how to get into the little back room. A quick anonymous fuck and done, no entanglements. She doubted he'd object.

He reached her and without a word pulled her flush against him. She didn't bother to protest the assumption she would dance with him. The beat shifted, slowed, the rhythm more seductive, and she found herself caught in his eyes as their bodies brushed, the sparks between them almost visible.

He circled her, and she again felt the shiver at the thought of being the hunted here, and suppressed the small laugh at how they both were playing the same game. She could feel him behind her now, hand pressing against the flushed flesh of her stomach as he pulled her against him. She drifted, content to sway to the music, enclosed in anonymous arms that felt oddly comforting as the alcohol blended everything away. No worries, no concerns. There'd probably be another picture of her on a gossipy web site tomorrow, highlighting what a whore she was, but right now, she didn't give a fuck.

The song ended and she turned, leaning close to be heard as the next track was spun. "You wanna go for a ride?" She thought she managed that without too much slurring and he didn't seem to mind.

He nodded. "Sure, beautiful."

Umm, very nice. Low voice, had that sexy timbre to it, almost velvety. She could imagine what he'd sound like in bed, whispering what he'd do to her next. Perfect. She stumbled a little, her grace to the music gone. "Gonna tell my friends I'm going."

Friends was probably too strong of a word, but she didn't want one of them trying to find her later, should they even remember she'd been here. He inclined his head to let her lead the way through the crowd until they arrived at a small corner table where a group of beautiful, dissolute people sat.

"Izzy, how are you, babe? Here, you look thirsty."

She grabbed the shot of tequila and slung it back with a small moue of her mouth and shake of her head. The boy who'd given her the glass began cackling as he punched another member of the group in the arm. "I love it when she does that. 's so funny."

The others laughed, and she moved over to a brunette who was straddling the lap of another boy as he licked his way up her neck.

"Jess, I'm going now."

Jess arched backwards to stare at her, taking in the man lounging behind her and regarding them all with bored disinterest. "Yeah, sure." She batted away the boy's hands and slid off his lap as she pulled her to the side.

"Who's the hottie?" Jess asked.

"Who cares what his name is?"

She raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Damn, I love the way you chew'm up and spit'm out, Izzy. Here, take a couple of these for you both."

Jess grabbed her palm and shook a few small pills into her hand. "Have fun, girl. Don't do anything I wouldn't. So, you know, pretty much everything." She smirked and resumed her straddle.

She stared at the small pills. How long had it been since she'd had one of these? She grabbed another of the shot glasses on the table and threw back one of the pills, chased by the tequila, her face contorting again.

The whole table cackled as they watched.

She slid the extra in her pocket and turned to see the man still lounging against the post.

"You coming?"

"After you."

The extra shots had hit by now and the glow that had begun ever so slightly to fade resumed its shine. The hottie was surprisingly polite, opened the door for her as they made it to the street and out of the crowded club, hand ever so lightly at the small of her back. She was surprised. He had to know he was getting laid, why was he even bothering with the niceties? No one did that for her, not anymore.

She turned and smiled at him seductively. "You got a car?"

"Just my bike tonight. Wanna ride?" He smirked.

The entendre was barely veiled. She smirked back.

"I want to drive."

"Whatever the lady wants."

"You aren't afraid?"

The parking lot was just at the end of the block and she pulled him towards the low-slung sports car in candy apple red, every man's wet dream of a car. Apparently it had been her father's as well, since he presented it to her on her twentieth birthday, two days before he was arrested. Two day before her world fell apart.

She shoved that thought away and fumbled for the car key that she'd tucked in her bra, not trusting the valet. She tried to stay balanced on the heels that seemed to wobble even when she was standing still. Fuck, she should have passed on that last shot, she felt like she was going to pass out, and she'd wanted this guy, wanted him to make her feel something, drown out the voices in her head that wouldn't shut up.

"Allow me." His fingers brushed hers, taking the key first, then trailing up her arm, tracing her cheek. "Let's get you in the car, Isabella."

How did he know her name? She didn't like it when people knew her name, it always fucked things up. And what was his? She didn't remember. Had she even asked? Didn't matter. He'd be gone in the morning. That's how this worked.

The pill Jess had given her was moving through her, and she felt warm and languid. She arched herself against him like a cat, wanting his hand to keep touching her as she leaned back against the car. It felt so good, the little brushes of his fingertips on her cheek, her neck, the shoulder exposed by her nonexistent top.

"Feels good," she managed, her eyelids feeling heavy as she tried to keep them open, watch his face. He really was beautiful, maybe even more so outside the harsh lighting of the club. Her own hand lifted, and she touched his cheek, felt the slight scrape of stubble there, a contrast to the soft lips she moved to next. She wanted to feel those.

"Kiss me," she murmured, trying to loop her arms around his neck, pull him closer.

His hand dropped away from her arm and he stepped back. She felt cold, suddenly, at the look on his face, hard and almost angry.

"Get in the car," he directed.

She stumbled, almost falling, and he touched her again, caught her arm and half-carried her around to the passenger side. He placed her in the seat, buckling the seatbelt as though she were a child. She reached her hand up, burying it in his hair, inhaling deeply. He smelled musky, sweat from the heat of the club, the faint whiff of whiskey, and something else, not quite sweet, but it filled her senses. She wanted to lick him, see if he tasted as good as he smelled. He could lick her too, she decided, giggling out loud. She stuck her tongue out, grazing the edge of his earlobe.

He pulled back at the contact, one hand untangling hers from his hair as he met her gaze for a minute. In the shadowed interior of the car, she couldn't quite read his expression.

"Don't play with fire, Isabella." He touched his lips lightly to the flesh of her palm, then tucked it at her side, closing the door behind him.

By the time he started the car, she'd passed out.

::::::::

Something was trying to drill a hole into her skull. Bella opened her eyes, wincing at the bright light pouring through the window of the bedroom of the hotel suite she'd been living in for the few months.

She closed them again, but the whirring noise continued, causing her head to pulse. What was that? And what happened last night?

She remembered the club, dancing, drinking, the gorgeous stranger. And then nothing. She rolled over with a groan. Please let there not be another sex tape, she thought. She cracked an eye open and looked down. She was still wearing her clothes. Jeans that fit like a glove. She doubted anyone would have bothered to try to slide her back in to those after screwing her.

The whirring finally stopped and she covered her eyes in relief, massaging her temples and trying to get a handle on her nausea when the sound of a throat being cleared caused her to whip her head to the side.

He was still here. Still gorgeous. Still fully dressed. And holding a glass of something vile looking.

"You'll want to drink this," he said, carrying over the cup and sitting it beside her bed. "And take these." He placed a couple of aspirin beside it. "And then we can talk."

"Who the hell are you? And what are you still doing here? Are you a reporter? With one of the tabs?"

He shook his head. "Drink it, and then we'll talk."

He turned on his heel, leaving the room.

She felt shaken and stupid as she watched him go, but grabbed the glass and the pills, sucking it back quickly. Her anger was rising. She should call hotel security, have him removed, but first she needed to make sure what he'd been doing all night at her place while she was passed out.

She stood shakily, staggering into the bathroom and groaning at her reflection. She looked like hell, mascara smeared, hair a rat's nest. She splashed some cold water on her face, pulled her hair back into a quick knot, and stripped out of the crushed top, throwing on a worn t-shirt. Whoever the dude outside was, she didn't feel like putting on her pretty face for him anymore.

He was sitting on the sofa, staring out the window that offered a sweeping view of the ocean, looking relaxed and ease. He glanced over and nodded at the chair across from him.

"Why don't you have a seat and we can begin."

She noticed the array of magazines and newspapers strewn across the table. The garishly colored pictures and print in huge headlines that all bore the nickname she's been christened with, Izzy, were bad enough.

_Izzy on the Town_

_Who's Izzy's Latest Boy?_

_Shocking New Photos: Izzy Topless in Vegas?_

_Izzy's Passionate Sex Tape Revealed_

But the ones in cold black and white newsprint were worse.

_Financier Swan Swindles Millions_

_Investigation into Swan Continues_

The one that lay on top, dated six months ago, made her look away.

_Swan Song: Charles Swan Commits Suicide Before Testifying_

"Who are you?" she asked, fighting the nausea churning her stomach. "And what do you want? If this is about my father, I don't know anything."

He nodded. "Yes, I've read the files. You're very convincing."

She cursed under her breath. "Who the fuck are you?"

He leaned forward, extended a hand. "Sorry to be so rude. My name is Edward Masen. I'm an operative with the CIA, and I've been sent to tell you, Miss Swan, that Uncle Sam needs your help." He smiled sunnily, then gave a small shrug as she stared in open disgust at his hand and crossed her arms.

"Fuck you."

"I can understand your reluctance."

"You don't know anything about me," she fired back.

He raised an eyebrow and picked up a thick folder from beside the stack of tabloids. "Let's see. Isabella Swan, sometimes known as Izzy, and to those close to her as Bella, born to Charles Swan and Renee Higgenbotham. Age 22. Single."

He tossed the folder down and looked her in the eyes. "I know that your parents' brief marriage was a source of dissent between your father and your grandfather, leading to his disinheritance. I know your parents divorced when you were thirteen, and you were shipped off to boarding school, with sporadic visits to your parents. And I know that a year and a half ago, you became the beneficiary of a trust established by your grandfather, making you a very wealthy young woman."

He paused, head cocked to the side as he gave her a smile. "How am I doing so far? Shall I continue?"

She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, ignoring him.

"Let's see, what else? Your father was arrested for criminal involvement in a number of financial schemes a few years ago. And in the course of the investigation, it became clear that he was involved in more than just bilking some old people out of their money, that he had helped create a front for extremist groups, a lucrative venture. And although that involvement hasn't been made public knowledge, I know that you're aware of this and that you've been questioned several times."

She refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him in anyway. She 'd thought she was through with all this, was never going to have to talk to another federal agent. That's what the last guy had promised.

He still wasn't done though. He stood up, paced to the window, staring out at the ocean far below as his voice dropped. "But I also know something that you don't know. Your father didn't kill himself before he could testify, Miss Swan. He was murdered while in custody to prevent his testimony."

She wanted to ignore him, but she couldn't. "You're lying."

He shook his head and turned around, his eyes solemn. "I wish that I wasn't. It was a very serious error on our part, and for that, I offer our sincere apologies, and condolences.

Bella closed her eyes, the words ringing in her ears as she tried to process them. Her father had been murdered.

"I assure you, Miss Swan, that we are working with every diligence to determine who was behind your father's murder. His information would have been invaluable in cracking a ring of extremists which have been suspected in multiple terrorist activities. And that's where you can help."

"Why would I want to help you?" she spat, jerking to her feet and moving to the small kitchen, suddenly, desperately needing to be moving. "You got my father killed."

He followed behind, watched as she jerked open the fridge, snatched out a bottle of water.

"Because you can help us catch his killers."

She sighed, the weight of the emotions that had welled to the surface threatening to overwhelm her. She needed a drink, or something, to stop thinking about all of this. "Mr. Masen, as I told the men in black who tracked me down in New York last month, my dad didn't exactly confide in me. I can't help you."

He took a step forward. "Actually you can. People your father knew, friends, associates, would never suspect you. You're young, grieving, you may be able to get them to reveal things to you they wouldn't otherwise."

She clutched the bottle tighter, certain that she was going to begin laughing hysterically soon. "You want me to be a spy?"

He nodded. "We need eyes and ears, Miss Swan, if we're going to bring your father's killers to justice."

She took a deep breath, the last two terrible, horrible years flashing through her mind. She tried everything to block it all away. Sex, drugs, alcohol, anything to numb her, make her forget. And none of it had worked. The same empty ache was still there every time she was alone.

"I'll do it."

**Part 2**

The security line was long as she waited to grab one of the little bins. She balanced on one foot, trying to tug off one sandal without falling over, when a hand caught her elbow and steadied her.

"Thanks," she replied, flashing a smile. "Don't want to break my leg."

"No problem," he replied, tossing his bag in a tray behind hers. "Going somewhere special," he asked.

"The Caymans. I'm so excited. Sun, fun, and relaxation."

"You're kidding? I'm headed there too. Flight 1435?" he asked, flashing his ticket.

She nodded. "Yeah, that's me."

The attendant waved her through and she grabbed her stuff on the other side, pausing to once again slide the sandals back on. He followed behind, steadying her again.

"I might have to keep you around; you're good at that," she said.

"I'm good at a lot of things," he winked. "Name's Edward Masen."

She reached for the hand he extended. "I'm Isabella Swan, but my friends call me Bella."

He held her hand for a moment longer than necessary. "And what should I call you?"

She smiled flirtatiously. "Well, I think I'd like us to be friends."

"Bella it is, then."

They pulled their carry-ons behind them as they walked towards the gate. She paused before the sign for the women's restroom.

"I'm just going to stop here for a minute. Save me a seat at the gate?"

He gives her a sharp look, but nodded. "Alright."

She entered the restroom, locking herself quickly in a stall and leaning back against the door, her hands starting to shake. Why the hell had she agreed to this? She didn't know anything about being a spy, how to pick a lock, or break a computer encryption, or any other the other Sydney Bristowesque exploits spies probably did. She hadn't even finished her last year of college, after everything went to hell with her dad. She'd spent the last couple of years trying to ignore what was happening, letting her reputation as a party girl grow with every drink, every night she couldn't remember, every guy she fucked and forgot.

That was all she was good at these days.

She took a deep breath, remembering the last time she saw her dad. He hadn't wanted her to visit him in prison, where he was being held until the trial, but it had been his birthday, and she knew no one else would remember. He'd been one of those dads, the kind that when you were with him, everything was wonderful. When she was little, on her rare weekend visits with him, he'd arrange elaborate behind the scene trips to the zoo for her to feed the animals, or take her to see her favorite ice skaters and get special autographs. When she was older, her summers with him had been filled with unlimited shopping and fancy dinners out with him and his friends, where she felt older and more sophisticated than her mother ever treated her. He was the model of an absentee parent, always giving, rarely strict, and never really there.

But she still loved him. That last day, seeing him there, his eyes hollow, the coarse cotton of the prison garb a sharp contrast to the expensive suits he'd favored, she'd realized that even after everything, the scandal, the notoriety, the betrayal, he was still her father. She just wished she'd told him that.

She pushed away from the door, grabbing some toilet paper to blot at the tears threatening to spill and ruin her mascara.

This was her chance to make up for that in a way. She just had to do it.

Edward had been short on details as they'd sat facing each other on the couches in her hotel suite. He didn't have the full information about the assignment yet. He was assigned as her handler, with a cover as a freelance travel photographer that she'd hit it off with on the plane. They were being sent to the Caymans, where her father had done a lot of business, and she was supposed to look like she was on vacation, a getaway from all the media scrutiny. And they were due to leave the next day.

And so here she was. Standing in an airport bathroom trying not to lose her nerve. She had a plane to catch, and a guy to meet cute with.

She wiped her eyes one last time, unlocked the bathroom door, and headed back into the airport.

::::::::

The Ritz was as she remembered it, elegant, with attentive staff who didn't blink an eye at her last name when she checked in. She slid into a seat at the bar beside the ocean later that evening, ordering a scotch from the bartender. It wasn't her usual, but it seemed appropriate as her father's favorite.

"Bella? We meet again. It must be fate." Edward appeared by her side, a smile on his face. He indicated the seat next to her. "Are you here with anyone?"

She shook her head. "No, just wanted some fresh air. I love to listen to the sound of the ocean at night."

"It's one of the most peaceful sounds in the world," he agreed. "Mind if I join you?"

She gave a small shrug. "Be my guest."

He placed an order and they continued to chat for about an hour about nothing of importance. She glanced around from time to time to see if anyone had noticed them, but aside from an occasional admiring glance or double take of a few people who recognized her from her frequent tabloid shots, no one seemed to be paying them any particular attention.

After about an hour, she knew it was time for her to move to the next phase. The liquor helped, as it always did, and it was such old habit now, she barely even needed to try to slip into seduction mode, even if it was just for the benefit of those who might be watching.

"So, I think I'm going to head up to my room. Would you care to join me for a drink there?"

His answering smile was slow and charming and the heat in his eyes as he leaned forward made her certain that he'd had practice in this as well. "I'd love to."

He put his arm around her as she stood, and they walked along, a textbook example of love or lust or at least strangers who were ready to screw. They joined a group of several others waiting by the elevator, and she titled her head back to look up at him. He glanced down, and surprised her by lowering his mouth to hers.

It was soft and swift and possibly the most chaste kiss she'd had in years. But that brief press of his lips to hers sent a charge through her that almost caused her to stumble as he led her into the elevator.

When they reached her suite, she fumbled a minute for the key card until he took it from her hand and opened the door. Once inside, he motioned for her to be quiet for a moment as he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.

"It's E. All clear?"

Apparently satisfied with the answer, he ended the call. "They finished the sweep of the room while we were in the bar. It looks clear. We'll check it again every few days to be sure, but until there's some contact with your father's associates, it's probably not an issue. We can talk freely here."

She dropped her purse on a table and kicked off her shoes as though she hadn't heard him. "Why did you kiss me down there?"

He gave her a slightly embarrassed look. "I thought it would sell us more as a couple."

She knew that should be the answer she wanted to hear. "And is that what we're supposed to be for this thing? A couple?"

"I don't know yet. Based on the initial information, I think it might be. I figured it might be good practice."

She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to control herself. "So, what, I'm supposed to play house with you?"

He gave a short laugh. "There's no need to play the blushing virgin, Miss Swan. I think we're all clear on the fact that while you may not stick around long enough to play house, you're more than competent between the sheets."

Her nostrils flared with indignation and she crossed to him in a few angry strides, her hand reaching up to slap him before he could react. She stepped back, trying to catch her breath, and watched as he touched his cheek gingerly.

"I supposed I deserved that." He inclined his head. "My apologies."

"They're not all true," she murmured, crossing the room to the doors leading out to the terrace. "What they print. Even the photographs – it's not always what it looks like." The tears were welling in her eyes.

She could hear soft footsteps behind her, and then a hand on her shoulder. "I know," he said. "Bella, I am sorry. I was out of line."

She gave a brief nod in acknowledgment, but refused to turn to face him.

"Can I . . . can I make it up to you? Meet me for breakfast, and we'll go do some sightseeing. My agency contact here said they're still working on some details, and they won't be in touch until at least the day after tomorrow."

"That's fine."

He gave her shoulder a slight squeeze, and then moved away. "I'll let myself out then."

She heard the door close before him before she let herself consider for a brief second what playing house with Edward Masen would be like. What playing house with anyone would be like. He was right, as much as she hated to admit it. She had no idea what being in a relationship would be like. She never let anyone get that close.

She gave a sigh and headed for her bedroom. If this had any chance of working though, she was going to have to open up some, and try harder.

**Part 3**

She stood on the terrace off her suite, watching the sun sinking in the sky. The door opened and Edward came to stand behind her.

"Have fun today?" he asked, offering her a glass of wine.

She shook her head. "I think I'll just have water, trying to keep a clear head, you know." He raised an eyebrow in surprise, but nodded. "And I did have fun today. The snorkeling was amazing."

He smiled and sat down the glasses. "I'll go get you a bottle of water. Oh, and I have something for you. I forgot to bring it this morning."

She waited patiently as he disappeared back inside, a smile dancing at the corner of her lips. How her feelings for a person could change so much in seven days, she wasn't sure, but somehow, Edward had done that.

He'd been as good as his word, taking her to breakfast the morning after they'd arrived, followed by a day driving around the island together. While they were in public, there was never a hint that this was anything more than a budding vacation romance, and she found that without the pressures of the true reason for their being here, the initial attraction she'd felt for him in the club only intensified.

He was easy to talk to, and though discussion of both of their pasts and families were taboo topics, she'd learned more and more about him as the days had gone by. He was a passionate photographer, and it was apparent that he would have enjoyed taking the photographs he snapped on their sightseeing expeditions even if not required by his cover. He adored baseball, and dragged her to a local bar to watch a game one night, where his usual reserved self was abandoned as he ranted and cursed and spouted statistics at the screen as his team eked out a victory. He was as adamant about a good cup of coffee in the morning as she was, and he could match her drink for drink at the bar.

And he made her heart ache in the best way possible every night when he came back to her suite to update her on the nonexistent news from the agency as to their next step. Each evening before he left there was a soft kiss to her cheek that made her long for more.

If the goal was to have them appear as some sort of couple, she wouldn't have to fake her attraction.

He reemerged onto the terrace as the last rays of the sun began to set, and handed her a bottle of water, uncapping one for himself.

"So, I took some photos to have them developed, and I wanted to give you this one." He looked almost nervous as he handed her the small packet enclosing the picture, then leaned nonchalantly against the railing.

It was a photograph of her, one he'd taken of her on the beach early the day before, when he'd persuaded her that the light was most beautiful. She was looking over her shoulder at him, her hands in the pocket of her light jacket, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and no makeup hiding her face. It was the expression he'd captured that held her attention. Her eyes were clear, almost tranquil, and she looked at peace with herself. But there are more there too, a softness that was almost transparent in her feelings for him.

He took a sip from his bottle, then slowly screwed the cap back on, still looking out at the water. "You mentioned that you always hated the pictures people took of you unawares, how they made you look. I wanted you to have one where you could see how truly beautiful you are."

She touched his arm gently. "Edward, thank you. This . . ." Her voice caught in her throat. "This is probably the nicest thing anyone's done for me in longer than I can remember."

He turned to her, looking in her eyes. "You deserve for people to do nice things for you, Bella. I . . . I know I want to."

She took a breath, suddenly unsure. "I'd like that."

He raised her chin with one finger, and brushed her lips with his softly. The same charge she remembered from the first night shot through her again, but now there was more intensity behind it, and that one touch wasn't enough. She leaned forward, seeking his lips, hearing him groan as he encircled her in his arms. Their lips met again and again, mouths opening to each other in invitation. Her body felt flushed, fevered, as though she was on sensation overload.

He pulled away, stepped back, his breathing ragged. "Bella-"

"Edward, I want this. I want you." She took his hand and led him towards the door inside.

The dim lighting of her room, with the enormous bed she'd been swallowed by every night sleeping alone, was like an open invitation calling to them. She closed the door behind them, wanting to barricade them from the rest of the world, if only for a little while.

His eyes were hot as he stared at her, leaned back against the door. "You're sure?"

She nodded, and he was on her before she could draw a breath, his hands hoisting her up and holding her in place as he worshiped the skin of her neck, small nips and licks that had her whimpering and begging in seconds. It felt so good, he felt so good, with every brush of skin on skin, and the slight stubble at his jawline as he dragged it against the curve of her shoulder.

She whispered his name, over and over, like a chant, an invocation, a plea for pleasure and warmth and completion. Their lips met again, and he carried her over to the bed, falling with her as their hands explored, finding their way beneath fabric, shedding items of clothing until they were both exposed.

She'd seen him in trucks and he'd watched her prance in bikinis throughout the week, but there was something about lying together, stripped of all pretenses and bare to one another that made her feel almost overwhelmed by how beautiful he was. She reached one finger out to trace the faded scar across his hip.

"You're okay?" she asked.

He nodded. She continued her exploration, the texture of the thin trail of hair leading down his stomach, the sharpness of his hip bone, the firm muscle of his thighs, before letting herself focus on his cock, hard and yet covered in delicate skin that glided beneath her fingertips.

She'd become adept at giving blow jobs years ago, and liked that they provided an easy distraction at times when she wanted to get rid of a guy and wasn't up for being screwed. But she found herself overwhelmed by the urge to take him in her mouth and taste him. She engulfed him, humming around his girth and loving the way he jerked in response, the way he whispered her name, low and husky. She was wet now, and she felt his fingers slip beneath her legs, gently stroking at first, making her loose focus and rhythm as he brought her closer and closer to the brink.

"Bella, come here." He urged her to look up at him and groaned as he watched her continue to suck him. "Let me inside you. Please, beautiful."

She wasn't sure she'd ever had sex sober, and she was suddenly aware of how real everything felt as he eased her down onto the bed, his body surrounding her, enveloping her as he sheathed himself in a condom and slowly slid inside her. He felt so good, as though he was filling up all the empty places inside her, as their bodies found a rhythm and moved together in sync. She finally had to close her eyes as the emotions swirling in his green ones almost overwhelmed her, intense in the way they looked into her, like he could see everything inside her and still wanted her in spite of all that.

Her body surprised her, and she was caught off guard as an orgasm rippled through her, intensifying as he thrust faster until he threw back his head, the muscles in his arms rippling as he held himself above her and came inside her.

He rolled off her, tossing the condom, then pulling her back into his arms, wrapping them in a sheet as he kissed her forehead, then her lips. "You okay?" he asked.

She smiled and pulled him back down for another kiss before resting against his chest. "Better than okay. Stupendous."

He chuckled. "I like that. Stupendous."

She found herself trying to get closer still, even though they were still skin to skin, reluctant to break their connection. "I could order up some dinner tonight. We could stay in. You could stay . . . tonight."

The shrill ring of a cell ripped through the quiet of the bedroom before he could answer.

"Don't get it," she said. "They'll call back."

He let it ring twice more and then heaved a sigh. "Order dinner. This won't take long."

He slid away from her and she felt the loss sharply as he rose from the bed, grabbing his pants and pulling out his cell phone.

"Yes?"

His spine stiffened and he began pulling his clothes back on as he talked.

"I'll be there is just a few minutes."

She pulled the sheet higher around her as she watched him finish dressing. "Who was that?"

"Our agency contact. Carlisle Cullen. He's one of the best."

"And it can't wait until tomorrow?" she asked, aware her voice was rising.

He walked over and cupped her cheek. "I'll be back soon. Order dinner, something nice, and then we'll stay in, alright?"

She launched herself up, ignoring the way the sheet fell away as she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him frantically, overcome by a sense of dread. He kissed her back, then gently sat her down.

"Bella, don't worry, alright? This is what we've been waiting for."

::::::::

She ordered the dinner, far more than the two of them could eat, then showered. She shuffled through the clothes she'd brought for the perfect outfit, finally settling on a soft wrap dress that highlighted her figure. Too dressy for staying in really, but tonight was a celebration of sorts, of their beginning, of starting on the job.

Nearly three hours later the door opened and he entered the suite. She stood quickly and moved towards him, surprised at the whiskey she could smell on his breath.

He stepped away and gestured towards the couch. "We need to talk about the assignment."

She nodded, trying to ignore her sinking stomach. "Alright."

He looked her in the eyes. "Do you remember a business associate of your father's named James Worthing who lives here in the Caymans?"

Bella thought for a moment and the memory of a middle-aged man, fair, with icy blue eyes that had seemed to follow her every time he saw her came rushing back. She shivered. "I remember him. The summer I was eighteen, my father was working down here in the Caymans a lot. I stayed with him down here part of the time, and we stayed with James and his mother." She paused for a minute. "I think her name was Victoria."

"Did you ever get the impression that he was . . . interested in you?" Edward asked.

She felt the color rising in her cheeks. "He liked to look at me in my bikini. Stared a lot. But it's not really unusual for middle-aged guys to perv on teen girls."

"Anything else?"

She sighed. "He called me a couple of times after I started college when he was in the States on business, wanted to take me out to dinner, that kind of thing. It made me nervous, and I always found some excuse not to go." Her heart sank as she asked a question she was afraid she knew the answer to. "Why?"

Edward stood up, pacing behind the couch. "Worthing worked on a number of transactions with your father, including some of the ones that led to his arrest. The bastard's smart enough not to try to come into the United States right now, and he hides his tracks with these banks down here pretty well. But your father had given us some information before he was killed, and in following up some leads, it appears that James may have a more direct connection to the group we're after than we thought. He may be assisting in moving bomb components to be smuggled from here into the United States. We need someone on the inside, someone who can see what's really going on inside Worthing's compound to know if that's the case."

She swallowed hard. "And that's me."

He gave one sharp nod in confirmation.

"What makes you think he'll invite me in?" she asked, her voice trembling.

His eyes raked over her coldly. "He had an interest in you a few years ago and I doubt it would take much for you to cultivate that again. That's certainly within your skill set."

"Is that what you want me to do?" she asked.

"It's what the agency has decided. You can turn them down, of course."

"That's not what I asked. Is it what you want me to do, Edward?"

"It's your decision, Isabella, not mine."

She curled her fist, letting her nails dig into her palm to keep herself focused as she searched his face one last time for some flicker of emotion that told her he hated the thought just as much as she did. She found nothing.

She got up from the couch and grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring herself a healthy dose. "When do we start?" she asked.

**Part 4**

Club Victoria appeared to be a popular destination for tourists, filled with bodies moving and grinding on the dance floor, and a bar that never seemed to stop filling orders. Bella adjusted her halter to better highlight her cleavage, plastered a smile on her face, and headed for the bar for a shot before moving towards the dance floor.

Edward followed at her side, and she worked hard not to completely ignore him, since they were supposed to be here together.

He moved in behind her on the dance floor, and she was reminded of the first night they'd met, the promise in his eyes. She should have run the other way. She moved a step away, flashing a smile at the guy dancing next to her, tall and gangly and seriously lacking in rhythm, who grinned back and moved closer.

Edward looped his arm around her waist again, and leaned down to whisper as she started to struggle, "He's up there. We need to get his attention. Dance with that guy."

He gave her a little push and she tried to catch his toe under her heel, but he was too quick. She shimmied over to the tall guy, tilting her head back as she swayed before him. She watched his eyes widen as he recognized her, but he kept his cool.

"Wanna dance?" she asked, moving closer to him. He nodded eagerly, and she felt his hands move to her hips, awkwardly trying to adjust her to his rhythm. She tolerated it for a few minutes, until she felt his hands start to creep further to try to cup her ass. Before she could protest, the tall guy was staggering sideways, knocked off balance by a shove from Edward.

"What the fuck, dude?" the tall guy shouted.

"Don't touch the lady that way," Edward replied.

The tall guy snorted. "Lady? Dude, you live under a rock. That chick's Izzy, she's one of the freakiest-"

Edward's punch would have probably loosened some teeth if two large bouncers hadn't intervened, pulling them both off the dance floor and dispersing the crowd of onlookers as the DJ switched songs.

Bella felt someone at her elbow, and turned to find James Worthing standing beside her.

"Isabella Swan, it is you! I saw the commotion, and thought to myself, no one has hair that beautiful shade of chestnut except Isabella. Still have the boys enthralled, I see."

She tried to smile and feign surprise. "James? James Worthing? It is so good to see you. My father-" She choked for real as she tried to go on.

"I know, Isabella, the tragedy of what happened to your father. My mother and I were absolutely devastated at what happened to him, how he was persecuted and hounded. They had no real evidence, I'm sure, just rumors and innuendo, and yet they still drove him to his end."

She nodded, letting him run the conversation.

"Are you in town for long?"

She gave a little shrug. "I just needed to get away – everywhere I went at home, the media, the cameras. It was terrible. Here seems so much more peaceful. I don't know how long I'll stay, but I'm thinking a few months."

He smiled. "And the gentlemen who started the fight, are you here with him?"

"Edward?" She laughed lightly. "He's a nice enough guy, I suppose. I met him on the plane coming down. But not really my type."

James tilted his head. "Really?"

She gave a small smile, and looked up at him with a wink. "I've learned the hard way, mature men are the best."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, have dinner with me tomorrow night."

She nodded. "Absolutely, I'd love to, James.

::::::::

The suite was dark when she walked in, legs hurting from the heels on her feet. She'd stayed for a drink with James, and then had excused herself before her emotions got the best of her. Something about James made her skin crawl, and it was more than just the knowledge of his potential illegal activities. He still looked at her in a way that made her want to shower and scrub her skin.

She touched the light switch, and gasped when she saw Edward sitting on the couch, waiting.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"The contact went well?" he countered.

"He's invited me to dinner tomorrow night."

"Excellent," Edward replied.

"He asked about you, of course."

"I thought he might. What did you tell him?"

"That I preferred mature men."

Edward's lips curled up in a tense smile. "I'm sure he loved that."

"He did. It is what I do best, you know."

He ignored her jibe and rose off the couch. "I won't be able to meet you here again, in case James has you watched. We're going to arrange another meeting point. Near the end of Seven Mile Beach, there's a villa that's been on the market for a while, and there's a cabana structure at the edge of the property near the beach access. Meet me there at 6:30 in the morning."

She stared at him in disbelief. "I'm sorry. How am I going to get there?"

Edward smiled. "You're going to become a runner, Isabella. Time to get physical."

He brushed past her without another word, leaving her standing alone.

::::::::

She sat inside the cabana, watching the waves as they slowly invaded and receded the shoreline, leaving behind a smooth and unbroken line of sand, washing away all the imperfections. She wished there was something that could smooth away her rough edges so smoothly. After a month of lies and deceit and unsuccessful attempts to uncover anything other than a few names of visitors, she was starting to feel as though she was nothing but a bunch of slivers of glass that would shatter completely at any moment.

She didn't know if she could go further with this.

He was behind her before she realized it. She hated that he could do that, be so stealthy, slip in and out of her life without a sound.

"Good morning, Isabella. Any news?"

He hadn't called her Bella since the day they'd gotten the full assignment. Since the night they'd . . . whatever they'd done. She didn't even know how to label an experience that in retrospect was one of the best and worst nights of her life.

"Yes. I have something I need to discuss, and I don't know if Carlisle needs to be a part of this. It's a serious step."

"Why don't you tell me and we'll go from there?"

She paused for a moment, trying to sort her thoughts. Her dinner with James a month ago had been successful, and before the evening was up, he'd extended an invitation for her to come and stay with him and his mother at their compound, where her father had always stayed. Edward and Carlisle had been delighted. But James's stare had lingered so long on her when he issued the invitation that she'd worried his hospitality would require a higher price. And she'd been right. He'd been pursuing her ever since, and she'd run out of excuses for refusing him.

"He wants me to marry him."

Edward didn't say a word, just stared at her, his face impassive.

"What do I do?"

He finally spoke. "Do you know what prompted this, other than your obvious charms?"

She ignored the tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "You know he's been pursuing me, and I've encouraged him to some degree so that he'll trust me more. But I've . . . I've tried to discourage any . . . intimacy."

"On what basis?" His voice was tight.

"That I was trying for a fresh start, that my dad's death made me realize I didn't want to live so recklessly, that I wanted to find someone I loved."

Edward turned away and stared at the ocean. "Did he believe that?"

Bella nodded. "I think so. He's, he's kissed me a few times, but that's about it. But proposing . . . I know he thinks that'll make a difference, prove he loves me and he's serious about this. He may not expect me to sleep with him until after the wedding, if I protest hard enough, but he'll expect other things."

"And if you say no?"

She shrugged. "I don't know how much longer I can stay there. His mother clearly hates me. She hasn't wanted me there from the beginning."

"And other new guests?"

"Marcus Volturi is back, and the younger one, Alec. I think Marcus is working on something, because he disappears every day out to the small yacht James keeps docked there and stays all day, but I've never been able to get on it. The one time I tried, the cabin was locked."

Edward nodded. "Are you willing to tell James yes?"

She felt as though she were going to be sick. "If it's what you need me to do."

He pulled out his phone. "You're right. We need to bring Carlisle in to this."

He dialed the number and handed the phone to Bella, waiting as she relayed the story again, and then listened as they held the phone between them as Carlisle agreed it was the smart move.

"So it's alright?" Bella asked again.

"I think it could really move us forward, Bella," Carlisle's voice echoed between them. Her eyes were fixed on Edward, who didn't say a word.

"Then I'll do it." She disconnected the call, and handed it back.

"Tell him you want an engagement party, and have him invite me," Edward directed. "I'll get the lock on the cabin open and see what's inside."

::::::::

Bella smoothed the designer dress over her hips, then adjusted the cold platinum band around her finger again. It felt so unnatural, still so foreign on her finger nearly a week after the proposal, and the heavy diamond that would have made lots of women squeal for joy just felt like another weight on her.

"And this is my fiancee, Isabella," James announced again, as yet another couple approached. Wealthy residents and business associates out to the island for work mingled as the alcohol flowed freely. She struggled to keep a smile on her face at all times.

He'd be here soon.

James had been reluctant to invite Edward, but she'd cajoled that he was one of the few people she knew on the island, and he'd finally relented. She'd jerked him off that night, her eyes closed and her mind on autopilot as he moaned and huffed his way to the end. He'd tried to go down on her afterwards, but she'd pled female issues and fled back to her bedroom. Her excuse wasn't going to last much longer though, and he was pressuring her heavily to move into his room, now that they were engaged.

She could only hope that Edward found something tonight.

He walked through the door, and she schooled her face into a polite greeting, as James and Victoria flanked her for introductions. Edward was his usual charming self, and soon disappeared into the crowd. She was supposed to meet him at ten, when the party would be in full swing and she could slip away undetected, to carry out the plan.

The minutes seemed to crawl by, and James stayed vigilantly by her side until Marcus Volturi appeared.

"Darling, I hate to let business interfere in our evening, but I do need to speak with Marcus for just a moment." James leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "You look ravishing, by the way. I'd love to see what's under that dress later tonight."

He laughed and cupped the curve of her ass, smirking as he swaggered down the hall and led Marcus into the library. She glanced at the clock. It was five after ten.

She strolled out towards the grounds, thankful that the path towards the boat dock was on the far side of the house from the terrace. She picked up her pace as she reached the portion of the path shaded by bushes, and nearly jumped out of her shoes when a hand reached out of the bushes and grabbed her.

"It's me." Edward stepped out beside her.

"I couldn't get rid of him, and I don't know how much time we have."

"Then we'd better hurry."

She led him to the docks and pointed to the small yacht that sat docked near the end. "The cabin stays locked, and that's where Marcus spends his days."

"Watch for me."

She stood at the edge of the railing, listening as Edward began to work at the lock, mumbled curses before he finally inhaled a "yes" and turned the latch.

"Anything?" she asked.

He didn't respond, and as she glanced back, she could see the thin beam of his pen light as he moved it around.

"They're model ships, Isabella."

She poked her head in the door, staring at the rows and rows of objects in disbelief.

"Marcus makes model ships all day?"

Edward turned and caught his sleeve on one of the ships, knocking it to the ground.

"Shit," he muttered, then knelt, examining a dent and scratching the surface of the vessel that gave way softly under his hand. He tested the texture of the putty like substance. "The bodies are modeled out of explosives. That's how they plan to smuggle it in. This ship has enough firepower to blow up half this island if you placed it strategically."

"So this is it? What you need?"

He nodded. "I need to take some in for testing, but yes, I think this will do it."

A noise sounded outside, and Bella froze. "What if that's James and Marcus?"

He sat the ship back on the table hastily after gouging a thin strip from the underside. "Come on."

He pulled her down the gangway and towards the front of the dock where they'd be plainly visible, then pulled her into his arms.

"Push me away when I tell you."

His lips met hers and she melted into him, hungry for his touch after so long, but it seemed like only seconds before he whispered in her ear.

"Now."

She managed a feeble push, and staggered away, hand pressed to her mouth in very real surprise. She turned to find James and Marcus staring at them.

"Isabella, what is the meaning of this?" James demanded.

Edward waved a bottle of scotch he'd produced from his pocket drunkenly. "Not her fault, captain. Guess they all go for the guy that can give'm a big rock." He took another sip and stepped away from her.

"Isabella, go to the house, now. We will discuss this later." James's eyes flashed with anger.

"James, just let him go." She clutched at his arm. "He's not worth it, he's just drunk."

He hesitated, then glanced at Marcus, who inclined his head. "James, we have more pressing matters at the moment."

James looked angry, but gave a curt nod. "Get out of here, Masen. In fact, I'd think about leaving all together if I were you, if you know what's good for you."

The pair turned and walked down the dock, boarding the boat. Bella glanced at Edward who nodded for her to move away up the path and into the cover of the bushes.

"Go on back," he mouthed. "We'll talk later." He headed down towards the beach in the opposite direction.

And then the low purr of a small engine sounded across the water, and she watched as Edward froze and turned around.

The next few minutes were a blur, as Edward ran back towards the dock, something in his hand. She watched as the bottle of scotch, now with a flame streaking from the top, sailed through the air, and landed on the deck of the ship just as the smaller craft pulled alongside.

Edward raced back towards her, tackling her to the ground as the ships behind them exploded into a million pieces, reigning debris around them.

He pulled her to her feet, dragging her swiftly away as the sound of voices from the compound, attracted by the explosion, began to move in their direction. "Are you alright? Can you run? We have to get out of here. Come this way."

"Why did you do that?" she panted as he urged her in the direction of the narrow beach.

"They were obviously going to move those explosives tonight." He glanced over at her. "And I saw the way he looked at you. He wasn't going to let you go, Bella. I couldn't take the chance on what he'd do to you."

She stopped on the shore, tugging him to a halt. "Why, Edward?"

His smile made that beautiful ache in her chest resurface as he touched her cheek gently. "Because, Bella Swan, I love you. Now let's get out of here."


End file.
